


SUPER//CUT

by MaggieDerrick



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, F/F, First Love, Horde Adora (She-Ra), Horde kids, Lesbian Adora (She-Ra), Lesbian Catra (She-Ra), Past Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, The Fright Zone (She-Ra), catradora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieDerrick/pseuds/MaggieDerrick
Summary: Adora remembers the day she met Catra like it was yesterday. She remembers sharing her bunk with her best friend, and hiding out on the roof when life in the Fright Zone got to be too much. They did everything together - they survived together, and Adora remembers all of it.Well, almost all of it...
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 77
Kudos: 445





	1. In my head//I do everything right

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a prolgue to the show "She-Ra and the Princesses of Power". It explores the possibilities of Adora and Catra's relationship in a series of loosely connected vignettes, and ends where season 4 leaves off.
> 
> ***
> 
> Content warnings: emotional and physical abuse; violence and blood; non-explicit, off-page sex
> 
> ***
> 
> Story and chapter titles are lyrics from "Supercut" by Lorde

Adora would never forget the day she met Catra.

She was young — still too young to be training full time, but old enough to understand the way things worked in the Fright Zone. This was the only world Adora had ever known, so the loud noises and strict rules didn't seem strange or unfair to her yet. (Although she wouldn't have said no to an extra ration bar every now and then.) As far as she knew, all kids spent their days studying strategic battle protocols and their nights being woken up at random hours to test their readiness and obedience.

It was late in the day. Adora was clustered with some of the other children her age, watching the older cadets practice their sparring. They were placing bets—wagering their dinner on which cadets would win their matches—when Kyle ran up, red faced and out of breath.

"Guys! Guys!" he huffed.

"Shh," Lonnie hissed. "If you're too loud they won't let us watch."

Adora kept her eyes on the cadet she'd bet half a ration bar on—a ruthless fighter named Octavia—and frowned. "Yeah, and if we get kicked out before Octavia fights, you owe me dinner _and_ breakfast."

Kyle shifted from one foot to the other. He was bursting at the seams, eager to say more but uncertain of how to proceed. His little fingers twisted together, and he fidgeted until Lonnie couldn't ignore him any longer.

"Ugh, Kyle," she said. "If you have something to tell us, just say it."

"There's a new kid in the barracks!" Kyle blurted, looking relieved to have his news out in the open.

This got Adora's attention. She twisted around and stared at Kyle with wide eyes. "Really?"

He nodded, and the kids glanced at each other, electric excitement buzzing between them. Adora couldn't remember the last time a new child had been delivered to the Fright Zone.

"What's their name?" Lonnie asked.

"Where did they come from?" Adora said.

Rogelio, still small—an absurd shadow of the hulking creature he would quickly grow into—let out curious gurgle.

"I don't know!" Kyle squeaked, earning a stern glare from the Force Captain who was running the sparring drills. He shrank back and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I haven't talked to her yet."

Adora jumped to her feet. "I wanna go see."

"What about the fight?" Lonnie asked, glancing back to where Octavia was waling on her opponent.

But Adora was already halfway to the door. She motioned to the others to follow. "Are you coming or not?"

*

The kids raced through the Fright Zone, darting between their fellow recruits as they made their way back to the barracks. By the time they arrived at the door to their dorm room, Adora's heart was racing, but not from exhaustion — she was excited. They were steps from the threshold, giggling and breathless, when the door slid open in front of them. From the darkness emerged Shadow Weaver, dark hair billowing and masked white eyes glaring. Adora skidded to a stop and threw her small hand up in a respectful salute. The others followed her lead.

This seemed to please Shadow Weaver.

"At ease, Adora," she purred. The tips of her long grey fingers were pressed together in front of her as she regarded the children impassively. "Lord Hordak has assigned a new recruit to your squadron. I expect you to get her up to speed right away, understood?"

The children nodded in unison.

Shadow Weaver hummed thoughtfully, full of secrets she'd never share. She waved a hand to dismiss her charges, and drifted away from them without another word. As soon as the undulating hemline of her robes disappeared around the corner, Adora barged headlong into the dorm. Inside the windowless room, the only light came from the hallway. It spilled across the empty bunks.

"Do you see her?" Lonnie asked, squinting into the gloom around Adora's shoulder.

"I don't think anyone's here," Kyle said. He hung back, afraid of the dark.

Adora cocked her head and cupped a hand to her ear. "Shh. Do you hear that?"

They held their breath and waited. A soft sob punctuated the silence, tiny and heartbreakingly sad.

"Hello?" Adora called, taking a tentative step into the room. She listened for the muffled sound of weeping, and followed it to her own bunk. The corner of the blanket from the top bunk hung over the mattress. Carefully, she crawled up the bed and peered over the edge, where she found the blanket bundled and trembling. A huge pair of mismatched eyes stared unblinkingly back at her, and when they locked on Adora's, the creature beneath the blanket let out a squeak of fear and retreated further under cover.

"Hey, it's okay," Adora cooed softly. "You don't have to be scared."

"Yeah, we don't bite," Lonnie said.

Kyle scanned the height of the bunk. "You're not stuck up there, are you?"

Rogelio grumbled, unintelligible to everyone except Lonnie.

"Good idea," she said, reaching for the corner of the blanket. "Let's pull her down."

"No, wait!" Adora cried, just as Lonnie gave the blanket tug. The bundle shrieked and scampered back toward the wall. The blanket fluttered to the ground, but the new recruit stayed put.

"Cut it out, you guys." Adora scowled down at her friends. "She's scared!"

"Well, she can't stay up there forever!" Lonnie replied, crossing her arms defiantly.

Adora motioned for the blanket, which Kyle handed to her without complaint. "Just be patient." She poked her head back up over the edge of the bunk. All she could see in the dim light was a ball of messy brown hair, pressed tightly against the wall. Adora flicked the blanket up, casting it as far as she could. "Here, you can have this back if you want. Come down whenever you're ready, okay?"

She dropped back to the floor. It took a moment and a few sniffles, but eventually the tail end of the blanket slithered out of sight.

The kids climbed onto Adora's bed and waited.

And waited.

An hour passed, and then another. Each minute was filled with the soft crying from the little girl on the top bunk. It hurt Adora's heart to hear how sad and afraid she sounded. Lonnie complained and Rogelio dozed. Eventually Kyle's stomach grumbled loud enough for everyone to hear.

"I think it's dinner time," he said sheepishly, stealing a quick glance at Adora, who was laying on her back and staring intently at the bed overhead. She scrunched her nose, considering her options.

"Hello up there. Are you hungry?" she asked.

The girl answered with a sad little sniff.

Adora sighed. "You guys go ahead. I'm going to keep waiting."

The children didn't need to be told twice; they slid off the bed and hurried out of the dorm room. They weren't about to sacrifice a meal for a kid who couldn't even bother to say hello. When the door slid shut behind them, Adora sat up.

"It's just you and me now," she said into the quiet. "Do you need anything?"

She wasn't expecting an answer, which is why she was surprised when, after a beat of silence, a small voice whispered, "No."

A thrill raced up Adora's back and manifested into a smile on her face. Progress! She jumped from her mattress and gazed up at the top bunk hopefully. "Okay. Let me know if you change your mind."

Adora heard shuffling. Suddenly she found herself staring into the same mismatched eyes from before: one blue, one yellow, both scared.

"You can come down if you want," Adora said. She scaled the side of the bed again and reached her hand up, like a sign that she meant no harm. "Or I could come up there."

The eyes flicked down and considered the offering for a moment. Then, very slowly, Adora felt five soft fingers fold around her own.

Success.

Moving slowly so as not to frighten the poor girl more than she already was, Adora heaved herself onto the top bunk. The girl kept the blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her eyes downcast and uncertain. She was about Adora's age, perhaps a year or so younger. A pair of pointed ears protruded from her messy hair, though she held them low and flat in her fear. A smattering of freckles dusted her little nose, and a sharp fang could just be seen peeking from her pouting lips.

She was unlike any creature Adora had ever seen.

"Where am I?" the girl asked in a voice just as small as she was.

"This is the Fright Zone," Adora replied, eyeing the new recruit with a new sense of curiosity. "Where are you from?"

The girl let out a tiny moan and glanced away. "I don't know."

"Where were you before you were here?"

"I don't remember."

"Do you know how you got here?"

The girl shook her head: no.

This struck Adora as very strange. How could someone not remember anything about their past? But the girl was frightened enough: she didn't need Adora prodding more than she already had. So Adora drew herself up and smiled her brightest smile.

"Well, don't worry about that. You're with the Horde now," she said proudly. "I've been here since I was a baby. Just stick with me and you'll be fine. Sound good?"

For the first time, the new girl smiled. It was small and it was fleeting, but it was there. Adora was charmed.

"What's your name?" she asked.

The girl swallowed. "Catra."

"I'm glad you're here, Catra," Adora said, reaching out to take Catra's hand. "My name's Adora."

"Adora," Catra said slowly, trying the name on her tongue. Then she smiled again, bigger this time, and scampered forward onto Adora's lap. She nuzzled under Adora's chin and started to purr. The soft vibration reverberated through Adora's body, right down to her heart. It made her happy in a way she didn't know she could feel.

"Are we friends now, Adora?" Catra asked quietly.

Adora replied by squeezing her in a tight hug. "You bet."

_Illustration by Iria Abella ([@ilikeyoucatradora](https://www.instagram.com/ilikeyoucatradora/) on Instagram)_


	2. When you call // I'll forgive and not fight

Settling into Horde life wasn't easy for Catra.

Though there were all kinds of creatures in Lord Hordak's army—from humans to lizard people and nearly everything in between—there were none that looked like Catra. This made her hard to miss, attracting curious stares and whispers behind her back during those first few weeks in the Fright Zone. The other cadets would take turns tugging on her pointed ears or trying to step on her tail whenever Adora looked away.

Catra was small and skittish, and in a world as cut-throat and unforgiving as the Fright Zone, that made her an easy target. If Adora wasn't there to fend the others off, Catra would find herself shoved and chased by the bigger cadets, and teased and excluded by the smaller ones. In the Horde, all signs of weakness were discouraged, and that discouragement was usually cruel.

"There is no crying in the Fright Zone," Shadow Weaver snapped one evening when she caught Catra weeping in the mess hall. It was the third time that week someone had stolen the food right off Catra's plate. She was still new at that point, and hadn't yet learned that nothing—not even the promise of a bland and gritty ration bar—was guaranteed in the Horde. She hadn't discovered that constant vigilance was the only way to survive in this place.

"Here, Catra," Kyle said meekly, snapping off the end of his ration bar and handing it to her, "you can have some of—"

"No!" Shadow Weaver swatted Catra's hand, hard. The ration bar tumbled from Catra's fingers and hit the floor with an awful _splat_. Hungry as she was, Catra stooped to salvage what she could, only to be wrenched back up by Shadow Weaver's vice-like grip on her arm. "Do not coddle her. If she can't fend for herself, then she doesn't eat. I will not tolerate such pathetic weakness from my cadets."

Scared, famished, and utterly humiliated, Catra sobbed harder, earning her a sharp slap across the face. The sound seemed to echo across the mess hall, silencing the other cadets who eyed the scene warily. The new girl would have to learn sooner or later, just like they'd had to. She would either learn, or it wouldn't matter for long.

No one came to Catra's rescue except Adora.

"Shadow Weaver, please — she's still new. I'll help her figure it out, I promise."

With Catra's arm still in her grip, Shadow Weaver glowered down at Adora. "Are you going to take responsibility for this wretch from now on?"

Adora pursed her lips and answered with a solemn nod.

"Very well," Shadow Weaver sniffed. She tossed Catra away from her with disgust. "But for now, get out of my sight."

Catra didn't argue, or wait for Adora to come to her defence again. She tore from the mess hall as quickly as her little legs would carry her, which was actually quite fast considering her size. Speed, it seemed, came naturally to Catra. Into the barracks she raced, where at last she could cry in peace. She perched on the edge of Adora's mattress, hid beneath her blanket, and muffled her sobs in the rough fabric.

Minutes later, the dorm door slid open.

"Catra?" Adora called into the room. Catra let out a whimper.

She could hear the soft padding of Adora's footsteps coming her way. Catra tensed — she just wanted to be alone. She hated this place and everyone in it.

Well, almost everyone...

The blanket was pulled back and, startled, Catra hissed.

"Catra, it's okay! It's just me," Adora said. She sat down beside her. "It doesn't matter what they do to us, y'know? You look out for me, and I look out for you. Nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other."

With a sniffle, Catra lifted her eyes to meet Adora's kind gaze. "You promise?"

"I promise."

Catra sank into Adora's embrace. As they sat, she wondered if it was true — had she ever looked out for Adora the way she had for her? The girl was so strong—so fierce—it had never occurred to Catra that she might need someone in her corner too.

"C'mon." Adora smiled. "Let's go back out."

Hand in hand, Catra let Adora lead her back into the mean and fearsome world of the Fright Zone. She gazed at Adora in quiet reverence and, in that moment, Catra knew she would do anything for her.

For Adora, Catra could be brave.

*

Catra wasn't just quick on her feet: she was a fast learner, too. It didn't take her long to realize she needed to hide the soft parts of herself if she planned to endure this terrible place. Being nice and well-behaved may have worked for Adora, but like a too-small sweater, _endearing_ didn't look good on Catra. Instead, she took the lead from her many tormentors — Shadow Weaver, chief among them. If being good wasn't enough to earn her even a shred of kindness, perhaps she was better off being bad.

She learned to wear cruelty like armor. Sure, she was small, but when a well-aimed barb or insult shook the confidence of cadets twice her size, Catra felt like a giant. She learned how to home in on the insecurities of others, and knew how to press into their pain. Spitting venom made her feel like she had some degree of control, even if it was just an illusion.

But cruel words weren't Catra's only weapon. It seemed her body was built for violence. From those little fangs that Adora found so cute, to the diamond-hard claws that tipped her fingers and toes, Catra soon came to realize she was capable of doing damage when she needed to.

Some cadets were fated to learn this the hard way. Only two short years after waking up in the Fright Zone, Catra had gone from hiding in the barracks to holding her own against some of the biggest cadets in the squadron. One day, she noticed Octavia—hulking, fearless, and many years her senior—giving her a dirty look.

"What are you looking at, dumb-face?" Catra spat.

Octavia reared back, immediately incensed. The friends she was standing with tittered at her expense, which didn't help matters.

"Get over here," she snarled, catching Catra by the throat and hauling her off her feet. She held her up to eye-level, sneering as Catra flailed, hissing and spiting. "Looks like someone needs to teach you to show some respect."

"Respect this!" Catra choked. She swiped a clawed hand at Octavia's face. Warm blood spilled from the wound, and Octavia howled. Clutching one hand over her eye, Octavia threw Catra down. The powerful tentacles that reached from her back whipped around her protectively. One hit their mark, connecting with Catra's nose and knocking her back.

But that was all the fight Octavia had in her. Blinded and shouting with pain, she let her friends lead her to the infirmary.

Catra held her head high and watched her foe retreat. She was six-years old.

Later, when the adrenaline faded and the pain settled in, Catra sought out Adora. She was frantic, worried the hit had broken her nose.

"Why would you try to pick a fight with Octavia anyway?" Adora asked after assuring Catra that her nose was just fine.

"I didn't _do_ anything," Catra replied defiantly. "All I did was exist near her. And scratch her on the eyeball... And call her a dumb-face."

"Catra!"

"What? She has a dumb face!"

Adora sighed. She held her hand out to Catra, who scowled defensively. "Where is she?"

Catra took her hand and led her back through the winding concrete and metal that made up the Fright Zone. Eventually they found Octavia, freshly bandaged and sulking again a wall.

"Hey Octavia!" Adora shouted. Catra held her breath. "You're a dumb-face!"

Though Octavia gave chase, she wasn't built for speed. The girls escaped her wrath hand-in-hand, racing away from her and bursting with laughter. Catra was elated. She knew she was strong — that she could take care of herself if she needed to.

But she didn't need to, and that made her happier than anything else.

As long as Adora's hand was in hers, Catra felt unstoppable.


	3. Because ours//are the moments

It wasn't all bad, growing up in the Fright Zone. As kids are wont to do, Adora, Catra, and the rest of their squadron found little ways to make the best of their situation. Anything could be a toy, any circumstance a game, when one had nothing else to work with.

Sometimes the kids all played together. They'd roam the Fright Zone like a pack of wild animals, pretending they were already grown and on an important mission for Lord Hordak. Out among the scrap metal and smoggy skies, they'd make weapons out of junk and draw up plans to defeat the Rebellion. They would elect a Force Captain—usually Adora—who would lead them into battle. They would force someone else—usually Kyle—to play the princess for them to fight. In their games, the Horde always won.

The Fright Zone was really no place for children. With little oversight outside of training, the kids often had to learn about danger the hard way. This usually came as the result of bets and dares, like the day they discovered their quadrant's incinerator.

Catra was the first to smell it.

"Ew!" she squealed, pinching her nose and whirling back to her friends. "Rogelio, did you do that?"

Indignant, Rogelio growled out some kind of response.

"Well _something_ out here stinks," Catra replied.

Adora looked to Lonnie and Kyle, who shrugged. Their human sense of smell was no match for Catra's feline nose. They continued wandering, and Adora sniffed the air. A few minutes later, after they'd squeezed through a small gap in the fence that blocked off an industrial area of the quadrant, the smell hit the humans at last.

"Ugh!" Lonnie cried. "That's nasty!"

"What do you think it is?" Kyle asked from behind his hands.

"I guess we'll have to find out," Adora replied.

Catra pulled a face. "Do we, though?"

Adora rolled her eyes and took Catra's hand. "C'mon. We're on an adventure, remember?"

It didn't take long for them to discover the source: a massive metal structure into which bots were tossing refuse and debris. Heat emanated from it like a second sun, making the air around it dance hazily. The kids ooh'd at the orange glow that burned from the machine's maw. It was like a monster that was could only be placated by a steady stream of offerings.

Lonnie elbowed Adora in the ribs. "I dare you to touch it."

"What?" Adora squawked. "No way, that's dumb."

"Yeah, Lonnie," Catra said. "Why don't _you_ go touch it instead?"

The five of them sat and stared up at the machine in wonder. Already they had grown used to the smell, but the heat was a different matter. Sweat beaded on Adora's brow, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She glanced at her friends and grinned.

"How about we all go, and whoever gets the closest wins?"

Lonnie tipped her head, considering the game. "I'll wager half my dinner if you guys do too."

This piqued Catra's interest. She had a hard time turning down competition, especially when there were extra rations at stake. "I'm in!"

The children took off running, making a beeline for the machine. Though the distance between it and where they'd been hiding wasn't that far, the heat it exuded hit them hard and fast. Adora squinted against the sweltering air. Already, her shirt was soaked with sweat. Kyle was the first to give up. He retreated with a cry and watched fretfully from outside of the torrid radius.

"Be careful!" he called after them.

His friends kept advancing, but their pace slowed. Lonnie heaved a searing breath. "It feels like I'm breathing fire!"

Only Adora and Catra seemed determined to reach the machine now. Glancing over her shoulder, Adora saw the others falling back. She felt her cheeks burning and, as they closed in on their target, it dawned on her that perhaps this game had been a bad idea after all. Catra was a few paces ahead of her, and she reached out a hand, ready to claim victory.

"Catra, wait!" Adora cried, leaping forward to grab her. Her fingers closed around the hem of Catra's shirt and she tugged her back. "Don't touch it!"

"Hey!" Catra rounded on Adora. Her tail flicked behind her, betraying her agitation. "That's cheating!"

Adora opened her mouth, ready to argue that she didn't think it was safe, when the tip of Catra's tail swiped the machine's surface. Catra shrieked and scampered away, the smell of burned hair following as she ran. The friends scrambled away from the incinerator, met up with the others, and just kept running. They didn't stop to examine the damage until they were back on the other side of the fence. The end of Catra's tail was badly singed, but she refused to cry.

"C'mon, Catra," Adora said. She draped an arm around her shoulder. "I'll help you bandage it."

Kyle eyed her wound and shuddered. "Let's never do that again, okay?"

"Deal," Lonnie replied. She and Rogelio nodded in unison.

Catra, who was cradling her tail gingerly, cut them all a fierce look. "You all still owe me half your rations."

In the barracks that evening, Adora gently cleaned and dressed Catra's tail. Catra split her spoils with her as a way of saying thank you. She would never regain sensation in the spot where she'd been burned, but the whole thing became one of those stories she and Adora would laugh about for years after.

_Illustration by[@ilikeyoucatradora](https://www.instagram.com/ilikeyoucatradora/) on Instagram_

*

Most of the time it was just the two of them. Inseparable as they were, Adora and Catra were prone to wandering off together in between drills and chores. They'd trawl through the wreckage outside in search of pretty things, like shards of glass that looked like diamonds or smooth stones the color of Adora's eyes. They were good at turning the Fright Zone into their own personal playground — Catra would scale the walls with ease and Adora would stubbornly follow, even if it took her twice as long. They found a platform on the roof, one that offered a sweeping view of the world below.

"We're gonna be the bosses of this place, one day," Adora said, gesturing at everything they could see and hinting at all they could not. Catra's eyes grew wide and she looked from Adora to the Fright Zone and back again in disbelief.

"Really?" she whispered.

"Yup."

One afternoon, the girls were playing chase. Adora was perpetually the one doing the chasing, because Catra was just too fast. They raced through supply rooms, darting around cargo skids and equipment. They swung from overhead piping and jumped from great heights.

"Catra, wait up!" Adora called after her friend.

Full of pride and energy, Catra ignored her and took a running leap. Hand over hand, she swung along the pipes and flipped gracefully to the ground. She looked back over her shoulder and grinned.

"What's it like being the world's slowest person?"

But Adora was determined. She kicked her legs and let go, only to land with a crash.

She was on her feet in an instant, resilient in the way kids often are. Catra squealed and together they laughed as they tore after one another. Adora thrilled when she realized she was gaining on her. But this, she discovered, was only because Catra had stopped running. She stumbled into Catra's back and followed her friend's curious gaze. There before them stood the door to Shadow Weaver's chamber, and it was wide open.

"We're definitely not allowed in there," Adora said, feeling the same beckoning in her gut that she'd felt that day at the incinerator; the one that whispered, 'this is a bad idea, but I want to do it anyway'. She glanced at Catra, who grinned back at her. It seemed she felt it too.

Giggling, they crept into the chamber. A hush fell over them once the crossed the threshold. The room was cold and gloomy — the kind of place they heard about in scary stories. In the middle of the room stood a colossal stone, crimson red and glinting in the scant light. Catra tapped it with a clawed fingertip, receiving a quick, sharp zap for her troubles. She yelped and crammed the finger in her mouth.

Unease settled over Adora. "Maybe we should get out of here."

But before they could, they heard a pained moan from the hallway. They shared a terrified look, and scampered behind the stone to hide. From there, they watched in horrified silence as Shadow Weaver lurched into the door frame. She looked deflated and dull — her hair less wild and her posture frail. There was something so incongruous about seeing her this way that it made Adora's stomach turn.

Shadow Weaver collapsed against a basin that stood only a handful of paces from where the girls were hiding. Gasping for breath, she reached up and unhooked the mask she was never seen without.

Adora gasped.

She didn't mean to; she couldn't help it. She had never seen the twisted wreckage that was Shadow Weaver's face before, and the glimpse she caught that day was more than she ever hoped to see again.

Shadow Weaver's bloodshot eyes swiveled right to where Adora and Catra sat crouched in fear.

"Get out!" she howled.

The girls made a break for the door, but before they could reach it, an inky black shadow consumed the room. There was no forward, there was no backward — there was only void.

"Catra, you stay," Shadow Weaver said in a tone that made Adora's blood run cold. She looked to Catra and found her frozen in place, seized by a crackling red electricity. The only part of her body Catra could control were her eyes; round, constricted, and filled with terror.

Snapping her mask back on with one hand, Shadow Weaver used the other to magically turn Catra to face her, to lift her feet off the ground, and draw her closer.

"Catra, what do you think you're doing here?"

"We were just playing!"

This excuse didn't satisfy Shadow Weaver. "Insolent child! I've come to expect such disgraceful behavior from you, but I will not allow you to drag Adora down as well."

For all her terror, Adora found her voice. "Shadow Weaver, it was my idea, too!"

But it was like she wasn't even in the room. Through a haze of rage, Shadow Weaver could only see Catra.

"You have never been more than a nuisance to me," she growled, holding Catra in her magical grip. "I've kept you around because Adora was fond of you, but if you ever do anything to jeopardize her future I will dispose of you myself. Do you understand?"

Like a knife to the heart, Shadow Weaver's words cut Catra to her core. Growing up in discord does things to a young mind — you can loath and fear the person meant to care for you and still crave their love and approval. Children need patience, they need kindness, and though Catra never would have admitted it—perhaps didn't even realize it herself—that's all she had ever wanted from Shadow Weaver. Perhaps, she'd wondered after each strike and sleepless night, if she just worked harder, did better, Shadow Weaver might think as highly of her as she did of Adora.

But in that moment, Catra realized something terrible: she'd never even had a chance.

"She didn't mean to," Adora cried, throwing herself protectively into the space between Shadow Weaver and her best friend. She and Catra shared a glance, and Adora hoped hers conveyed what she needed Catra to know: _I'm going to get you out of here_.

Shadow Weaver let out a low groan and turned to face her favorite charge.

"Adora, you must do a better job of keeping her under control," she drawled, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of Adora's golden hair behind her ear. She released her magical hold on Catra, who fell to the ground in a demoralized heap. "Do not let something like this happen again."

It took every ounce of courage Adora had not to flinch away when Shadow Weaver patted her gently on top of her head. The blackness that has swallowed the room faded, and the girls hurried out of the chamber and away from the nightmare inside of it.

That day would hang like a terrible secret between them for years. Only when they met again in the halls of an ancient ruin—forced to relive one of their worst moments—would they speak of what happened that day. 

Until then, they buried the memory deep in their hearts and willed it to die.


	4. I play//in the dark

When it came to making soldiers, the Horde had it down to an art. There were some adults who joined their ranks—those disenchanted by monarchy rule, the vulnerable types manipulated in to believing in Lord Hordak's vision of a more civilized Etheria, and prisoners of war made to serve their conqueror—but it was children the Horde truly preferred. They recruited early — the younger, the better. Usually this meant scooping up the many orphans of war, or simply stealing children right from their family's arms. Children were malleable and easy to control. They were ideal.

A child's combat training didn't begin until they were seven, maybe eight and sometimes six — it all depended on their development. But their grooming began right away. From the time they were old enough to speak, Shadow Weaver would startle her young charges awake randomly throughout the night, testing their readiness in case of attack. If they fell ill, they were made to stay out of sight lest their weakness and germs infect the others. They were never asked, only told. Never spared a kind word, only talked down to. It was a painful way to grow up.

As Adora and Catra got older, it became clear that they were different even in the ways that made them the same. Both were extraordinarily gifted cadets, though what came easily to Catra—speed, dexterity, cunning—were things Adora had to work for. She was only human, after all. But she was strong and she was diligent, and it didn't take long for her to rise to the top of their squadron.

"Very good, Adora," Shadow Weaver said as the cadets filed into the locker room after sparring practice. She stood by the doorway, her hands clasped behind her back. "Your progress continues to impress me. I always knew you were special."

This was the kind of praise Adora craved; she needed it the way she needed food to eat and air to breathe. These were the moments that made every aching muscle and sleep-deprived drill worth the pain and effort. When Shadow Weaver commended her, Adora felt useful; it made her feel like she, in a sea of other cadets, was important.

"Thank you, Shadow Weaver," she said, beaming up at the sorceress. "Catra and I have been practicing during the break after study hall."

"Yes, well, I'm glad to see the effort is paying off for _one_ of you," Shadow Weaver replied, sliding a cutting glance at Catra, who hovered in the doorway. Catra shrank back and dropped her gaze to the floor. There had been nothing wrong with her performance, she just hadn't been the last one standing. Not that it would have mattered — when it came to Shadow Weaver, Catra could never seem to break second best. "Keep this up, Adora, and you may well find yourself named Force Captain one day."

Adora's breath caught in her throat. Her? A Force Captain? It was the highest honor a senior cadet could hope for, and there were precious few positions to go around. She swallowed hard and fought to retain her composure.

"Do you really think so?"

Shadow Weaver nodded.

"I expect to great things from you, Adora," she said, drifting away. "Do not disappoint me."

The moment the training arena doors closed behind Shadow Weaver, Adora let out a squeal of excitement. She flung her arms around Catra and squeezed tightly.

"Did you hear that? Force Captain!"

Catra squirmed and choked in Adora's stranglehold. "Well, duh. You're such a perfect people pleaser — who else would she want to make Force Captain?"

"Oh, c'mon," Adora laughed, grinding her knuckles playfully against Catra's scalp. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"What?" Catra squawked. She freed herself from Adora's grip with a gasp and scowled. "Why would I want to be Force Captain? Do you have any idea how much work that would be? Ugh!"

Adora crossed her arms and smirked. "Sure, but it would get us one step closer to running the show, too."

At this, Catra's sneer melted into a smile, genuine and giddy. "Well, when you put it that way, maybe we should get back out there and keep practicing?" She gave Adora a shove and took off back into the arena. Adora chased after her. Catching Catra around the middle, she lifted her off the ground and whirled her in a circle until they were both dizzy, and they collapsed into a giggling heap.

These were the days Adora hoped she would remember forever.

*

Being a promising young cadet was never easy. Putting in the extra training hours with Catra helped, but Adora was not immune to the pressures that came with Shadow Weaver's sky-high expectations.

At their regular speed test, Adora came in second for the fourth time in as many months. Though she poured every ounce of strength and power into the race, Adora still couldn't seem to beat Catra, who gracefully sprinted past her with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Despite her competitive streak, Adora couldn't help but laugh — Catra always made it look so easy. She was still laughing when she crossed the finish line, red-faced and gasping for breath.

"I fail to see what is so funny, Adora," Shadow Weaver said, her voice a dangerous rumble as she glided over to where the cadets were clustered. Adora clamped her mouth shut and jumped to attention. Though her chest still heaved, she stood as rigid as she could and lifted a hand in salute.

"I'm sorry, Shadow Weaver," she panted. "We were just having a bit of fun."

"Fun?" Shadow Weaver's glowing eyes narrowed threateningly. "Is losing to Catra a game to you?"

Lonnie, who stood at Adora's side, cleared her throat. "In her defense, Catra is really fast."

"Silence!" Shadow Weaver snapped, darkness spewing from her edges like a horrible black aura. The cadets didn't dare flinch, but the tremble in their lips, their hands, their knees gave their fear away. Again, Shadow Weaver rounded on Adora. "Force Captains do not come in second place."

"No, Shadow Weaver," Adora replied, her voice tight with the threat of tears. "I'm sorry, I'll try harder."

Prowling up and down the line of her cadets, Shadow Weaver let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Perhaps I was wrong about you, Adora. I wanted to believe you were different — that you were special."

To Adora, the world seemed to spin. If praise was like air in her lungs, to be denied it was like having her head held under water. She took in a shaking breath, desperate to keep herself from spiraling into a panic. She hated to disappoint, she hated to fail.

"Hey," Catra said, her voice cutting through the cacophony of Adora's thoughts like sunlight through the clouds. "Second place is still pretty good."

Shadow Weaver could move with terrifying speed when she wanted to. In the time that it took Adora to blink back her tears, Shadow Weaver's wrathful darkness shot forth and ensnared Catra in its inky tendrils.

"Insolent brat!" she snarled. With a snap of her fingers, a jolt of red electricity filled the black cloud that held Catra prisoner. Catra let out a scream of agony as the current shot through her body, lifting her off the ground with its force. "If I wanted your worthless opinion, I would ask for it."

The assault was over with a wave of Shadow Weaver's hand. The darkness receded, leaving Catra to collapse with a groan. Without thinking, Adora dove down to comfort her. But before she could reach her friend, Adora felt Shadow Weaver's fingers close around her shirt collar and haul her back to her feet. She held her breath to keep from crying out. Shadow Weaver's masked face hovered mere inches from her own.

"Do better," Shadow Weaver said, her angry words clipped short. Then she released Adora, turned her back on them all, and stormed away in a dark fury.

*

That day, Adora and Catra did what the always did when Shadow Weaver made their lives miserable: they climbed.

Up on the roof, the pair let the blowing wind fill the uncomfortable silence between them as they sat along the edge, nursing their wounds. Catra slumped, still weak from her punishment. Anxious, Adora chewed on her nails and stared vacantly out into the distance.

"Stop that," Catra said at last, her voice hoarse from the electricity. "It's gross."

"I can't help it," Adora replied. She dropped her hands to her lap and gripped her thighs to give them something else to do. Her fingertips pressed so tightly that her knuckles turned white and she knew the pale flesh of her legs would be mottled with small bruises by the time she went to bed that night.

Sighing, Catra pried one of Adora's hands up and laced their fingers together. The feeling of Catra's palm against hers did what no amount of deep breaths could; Adora's racing heart slowed to a gentle trot, and at last she felt like she could relax.

"For what it's worth, I thought you did great today," Catra said without looking at her. "You were definitely faster than last month."

Adora tipped her head and watched her for a moment, her eyes tracing her friend's profile. Catra had long since outgrown the soft features of her childhood self. Now it seemed as though she was made completely of sharp edges: from her pointed chin and peaked ears, to her cutting stare and razor wit. Sharp claws, sharp teeth, sharp insults. But with Adora, she was always soft. That much had never changed.

"Why did you do it?" Adora asked, barely loud enough to be heard over the whistling wind. "You had to know Shadow Weaver would punish you for it."

Catra turned and looked at her with an expression that was hard to read. Then she smiled. "Because we look out for each other, right?"

"Yeah, but..." Adora wasn't sure what she was trying to say. There was a feeling there, something she didn't know how to put into words, dancing just out of her reach. She wanted to ask Catra if she felt it too — if it was the reason she always insisted on suffering on her behalf.

"But what?" The way Catra asked the question sounded vaguely like a dare.

Adora searched her face, like she might find the answer hiding in Catra's freckles or between the hues of her contrasting eyes. She bit her lip and looked away, embarrassed by her own neediness. "Is that the only reason?"

She heard Catra inhale sharply. When she looked back, Adora found her staring at her lips.

"No." Catra shook her head as if she were coming out of a daydream. "No, that's not the only reason."

Adora's heart was hammering again, although this time she couldn't understand why. She waited, watching Catra's brow furrow in frustration.

"I like you, Adora," Catra said. "But not the same way I like anyone else." Her mouth quirked. She was searching for a word to explain what she was feeling, but that word didn't exist in their vocabulary, and it bothered her. "Does that make sense?"

Adora nodded. "Does it feel like this?" She lifted their clasped hands.

Catra peered at their woven fingers and pressed palms, studying them with a focused expression. She looked from them to Adora, and it was like they were seeing each other for the first time.

"Kind of," Catra admitted, though she didn't sound completely sure of herself. "Like this, only... bigger? It feels like I don't want to hold anyone else's hand — just yours."

_Yes_ , Adora thought. _It's the same feeling_. They were so close to figuring out this nameless thing, and that sent a thrill racing up from somewhere deep inside of her.

"What about this?" she asked. She leaned forward and softly, so softly, she pressed her lips to Catra's. She didn't know what she was doing, just that she really, inexplicably wanted to. For a fraction of a second, Catra tensed and Adora thought she might pull away.

But she didn't. A heartbeat later, Catra softened. Her mouth melted against Adora's, a building purr vibrating between them.

When she eventually did pull back, Catra was smiling.

"Yeah, exactly like that."

_A HUGH thank you to Iria Abella, aka 1/2 of[@ilikeyoucatradora](https://www.instagram.com/ilikeyoucatradora/) on Instagram, for this gorgeous illustrated excerpt!_


	5. We were wild//and fluorescent

Growing up in the Horde—a place where affection was virtually non-existent and intimacy strictly forbidden—there were a lot of things Adora and Catra didn't know. There was no way for them to know that what they were doing was called _kissing_ , but that didn't stop them from doing it.

And they were doing it a _lot_.

That first kiss on the roof was the beginning of something incredible — permission to give in to something they'd both been falling toward for a long time. And now that they'd fallen, there was no way they were going back to the way it was before. They stole every moment they could, whenever they could—in storage closets, in locker room shower stalls, in Adora's bunk late at night long after their dorm mates fell asleep—stifling giggles between kisses. They were hopelessly happy, drunk on each other and giddy over what they had become, together. When they were tangled up in one another, every awful thing about life in the Horde faded into the background. They made each other stronger.

It was hard for them to concentrate. When Adora was supposed to be focused on her training, she'd catch her mind wandering, wondering when next she and Catra might be able to sneak away. They spent drills trying to catch each other's eye, flashing knowing smiles and cheeky winks behind everyone else's back. Their rankings slipped and their errors increased, but it didn't bother them the way it once would have. Even the prospect of becoming Force Captain didn't feel quite as important to Adora anymore. Rising in the ranks was appealing, for sure — but for what purpose? She had wanted a power that would prove her usefulness and value. She had craved the agency that came with being the one calling the shots rather than just the one taking orders.

But now?

Being with Catra—being more than just best friends—had given her so much more than someone to kiss in dark corners and curl up next to at night. Being with Catra made Adora feel important — made her feel valued. Being with Catra made her feel powerful. 

Besides, between being on top of her squadron's ranking board or being on top of Catra, well... that wasn't a hard choice to make.

It hadn't taken long for Adora and Catra's affections to evolve beyond kissing. The intimacy between them came so easily. After all, they'd grown up together — they'd already seen each other at their most vulnerable more times than they could count. But it was different now. Now they could give in to the urge to reach out and touch. When they started exploring each other—their hands sliding into private places, and their lips crushing against lips, and throats, and thighs—it all came as naturally as breathing.

Adora loved nothing more than taking Catra's breath away. She loved pushing her up against the wall, pressing their hips together, pinning her hands above her head. Catra had always been fierce and wily, but under Adora's hands she came undone. Catra's mean and stony facade would crumble, giving way to a softness only Adora got to see. Under Adora's touch she would writhe and gasp, losing control until at last Adora would have to smother her moans with a kiss so deep that Catra thought she would die, and that would be alright.

But it was those quiet moments up on the roof they both looked forward to the most. Away from the prying eyes of their fellow cadets and Shadow Weaver's constant vitriol, the girls were able to just _be_. They would lay together, nose-to-nose and breathing each other in. Nothing bad could happen as long as they had each other.

"What if we just left?" Catra whispered one evening, her head on Adora's shoulder as they stared out at the neon glow of the Fright Zone.

"Left?" Adora said. "And go where?"

"Who cares? Anywhere's got to be better than here."

Adora turned this idea over in her mind. She could feel Catra looking up at her, watching for a reaction.

"Imagine if we didn't have to worry about Shadow Weaver making our lives miserable all the time." Catra continued, taking Adora's hand and giving it a squeeze. "No more having to hide."

Even Adora had to admit that sounded appealing. But they had no idea what was out there, beyond the Fright Zone's borders. Just stories and promises of blood-thirsty princesses to contend with. What if it was all somehow worse than what they already knew?

"Don't worry," Adora said, turning her face to plant a kiss into Catra's wild hair, "we won't have to worry about any of that once we're running the show, remember?"

*

One evening, in the small window of time between chore duty and dinner, Catra found Adora in the hall chatting with Lonnie. They were talking about their upcoming fitness assessment and making bets, as usual.

"You'll have to finish this conversation later," Catra said as she breezed between them. She snagged Adora's belt and dragged her along behind her. "Shadow Weaver assigned us extra chores again."

"Seriously?" Adora complained, throwing her hands up in frustration. "What now?"

Catra looked back over her shoulder at her. "She wants us to reorganize the storage closet in B-hall."

"They whole thing?"

"Yup. We don't eat until it's done."

Lonnie laughed. "Y'know, maybe Shadow Weaver wouldn't be so hard on you two if you weren't such slackers now. You used to be at the top of your game! What happened?"

Adora and Catra glanced at one another, then shrugged in unison.

After waving goodbye to Lonnie, the girls made their way to B-hall. It was the part of the building that housed the training arenas, and it was deserted at this time of day. Adora dreaded the storage closet: it was where all the training staffs, strike sensor padding, and sparring dummies were kept, and she knew all too well the kind of disarray she and her fellow cadets often left it in.

"Shadow Weaver must be super mad at us," Adora grumbled as they reached the closet door. "There's no way we're going to be done in—"

The door slid open. Inside, the staffs were stacked and the padding hung neatly. Even the dummies had a freshly-polished gleam to them. 

"Are you sure Shadow Weaver said B-hall?" she asked, turning to Catra. "Because this looks—"

Catra cut her off with a groan and pushed her into the closet. The door hissed as it slid shut. "C'mon, Adora. You can't be that clueless. Are all those hits to the head really working against you?"

"Huh?" Adora cocked that oft-struck head of hers, unsure of what Catra was implying. That is, until Catra took her by the hips and pushed her back. The backs of her legs hit the edge of a storage container and, with a yelp of surprise, she fell back on top of it. 

A mischievous smile played across Catra's lip. She slinked onto Adora's lap, her soft tail curling. 

"Good thing I like you anyway," she purred.

Adora grinned and gripped Catra by the waist, hiking her up closer. "You do? How embarrassing for you."

Catra leaned in until their lips were barely a breath apart. She coiled her arms around Adora's neck and giggled. "Shut up."

They kissed, slow and deep at first; their lips moving against one another with the gentle rhythm of a lapping tide. Catra rolled her hips and nipped ever so gently at Adora's lips — enough to elicit a thrill, but not so much as to draw blood. Adora smoothed her palms up the strong muscles of Catra's back, pulled them around her front and trailed her fingertips over her chest and up to her throat. She gripped Catra's jaw firmly, holding her in place so she could kiss her harder, faster. A throaty growl escaped her lips as Catra's fingers fumbled with the belts that encircled her waist. In her mind, she was torn between two scenarios: let Catra do what she wanted with her, or overtake Catra herself. 

The sound of their breathing, heavy and unabashedly loud, filled the storage closet. It echoed in Adora's ears and left her head spinning. Her belts clattered onto the container below, Catra's hands deftly peeled the crimson jacket off her shoulders.

Something hissed.

The storage closet filled with light.

The girls stopped in ice cold horror.

And Shadow Weaver's voice filled the small space,

"What in Lord Hordak's name do you think you're doing?"


	6. Come home//to my heart

Adora and Catra couldn't muster a breath between the two of them. Their hearts seized in tandem, terror etched plainly across both of their faces.

Despite all their training, their instinct to react failed them. Adora was mortified that they hadn't heard Shadow Weaver coming. How could they have missed her approach?

But of course they hadn't heard her; Shadow Weaver with her eerie floating movements, and the pair of them too caught up in one another to remember that there was an entire world moving on without them just outside the door.

With a howl of rage, Shadow Weaver grabbed ahold of Catra's long, wild hair and wrenched her from Adora's lap. Catra fell back with a shriek of fear and pain. She hit the ground hard.

"So, I assigned you _extra chores_ , did I?" Shadow Weaver seethed, her darkness spraying across the floor and up the walls. "Of all the insubordinate, disrespectful—"

"Shadow Weaver, please!" Adora interrupted, scrambling to pull herself together. She managed to get her jacket back on, but her belts fell from her trembling hands and clattered to the cold floor. "It's not what you think."

But Shadow Weaver was no fool. "How _dare_ you, Adora. Do not insult my intelligence with your pathetic lies."

Adora flinched back. From the floor, her hair still tangled in Shadow Weaver's grip, Catra let out a hiss. She wriggled in an attempt to stand or find a position that wouldn't cause her pain.

"You," Shadow Weaver growled, yanking Catra to her feet. Catra cried out and swung a clawed hand, slicing a series of clean lines in the sleeve of Shadow Weaver's crimson robes. Shadow Weaver retaliated by giving her a violent shake. When Catra was sufficiently cowed, the sorceress turned her attention back to Adora. "I knew something was amiss when your scores began to suffer, but never would I have believed _this_ was why. I have spent years preparing you for greatness — your entire life! And _this_ is how you repay me? Are you truly willing to throw away your future for... for what? Shameful trysts with the likes of _her?_ "

For a brief, horrible moment, Adora's heart clenched — not for Catra, but for herself. Disappointing Shadow Weaver had always been her deepest fear — something she never would have admitted out loud yet understood instinctively. Up until that moment, she honestly believed she could have it all: Catra in her arms and a Force Captain badge on her chest. How could she have been so naive?

"Adora?" Catra whimpered. Adora blinked, wrenched suddenly back to the moment. And when Catra gazed up at her, fear glistening in her mismatched eyes, the Force Captain badge faded from Adora's mind completely.

"Let her go!" she demanded, though her voice trembled. "You're hurting her!"

Shadow Weaver reeled back, but she did not relent. "No. I am not letting you throw away everything I've worked for, not for her." With a wave of her free hand, she opened the closet door. "You were warned, Adora."

"Wait," Adora lurched forward, but it was too late — Shadow Weaver had already shoved Catra out into the hall. Her blazing white eyes narrowed back at her. The world slowed, and the last thing Adora heard was Catra crying her name before the door slammed shut in her face.

*

No matter what she did, Adora couldn't get the closet door to open. She kicked, she hit, she tried prying it with her bare hands. When that failed, she tried using a training staff as a crowbar, but that didn't help either. Body throbbing and knuckles bleeding, Adora screamed for help, but no one came.

Adora paced the narrow space, cursing and throwing things in a rage. She eyed the opening to the air vent, but it was clearly too narrow for her to shimmy into. Eventually, she sank to the floor in defeat. Surrounded by the carnage of her anger, Adora let herself cry. Her mind careened from one awful thought to the next, and the more time that passed, the deeper into despair she sank. A cruel voice in the back of her mind whispered that she was never going to see Catra again. She didn't know what Shadow Weaver was going to do with her, but she knew it wasn't going to be good. All Adora knew was she had no one to blame but herself.

In the confines of the storage closet, she had no sense of time. After what felt like hours, Adora thought she heard the muted tapping of footsteps outside. She stumbled to her feet and threw herself at the door.

"Hello?" she shouted, her voice hoarse from screaming. "Is someone out there? Please, open the door!"

Adora pounded on the door again and again. She nearly punched Lonnie in the face when, at last, the door slid open.

"Woah, Adora! Watch it!" Lonnie ducked out of the way in surprise. "Have you been locked in there this whole time? Everyone's been looking for you."

The hallway felt cool and almost refreshing compared to the stale and recycled air of the closet. Adora took a deep breath of it as she grabbed Lonnie by the shoulders.

"Have you seen Catra?" she demanded. Lonnie blinked and looked over Adora's shoulder into the ransacked closet.

"Isn't she with you?"

Adora shook her head so hard that wisps of her blonde ponytail whipped at her cheeks. "She was, but then— it doesn't matter. When did you see her last?"

"In the hallway when she dragged you off for extra chore duty." Lonnie pushed her back gently, her expression drawn. "Adora, what's going on?"

But Adora was already running. She took off down the hall, leaving Lonnie shouting after her. As she wound through the halls to busier parts of the building, Adora darted around her fellow cadets. Occasionally she would knock into someone—she even sent a couple tumbling as she shoved past them—but she wouldn't even let herself pause long enough to apologize.

Finally, she skidded around one last corner into the antechamber she'd been seeking. The door to Shadow Weaver's Black Garnet chamber towered in front of her, dark and imposing. For years, Adora had feared that doorway. Now she hurled herself at it, pummelling her fists against it as she shouted at the top of her voice.

"I know you're in there! What did you do with her? Where's Catra? Answer me!"

She pressed her ear to the cool metal of the door and held her breath, but she couldn't hear anything. Still, she knew Shadow Weaver was there — she could sense her in the air. She was listening to her anguish, enjoying the sounds of her suffering.

"Fine," Adora growled, stepping back. Her chest heaved with exhaustion, but her heart was on fire. "But I'm tell you right now — if you hurt her, I will never, ever forgive you. Do you hear me? I'm done!"

The only answer was her own voice echoing down the abandoned corridor, but she trusted her words would get where they needed to go.

*

Catra wasn't back by curfew. From her own bunk, Lonnie cast Adora a curious look, but Adora pretended she didn't notice. Instead, she laid in bed fully clothed and stared unblinking up at Catra's empty bunk. She didn't sleep at all that night; every sound made her jump. But the dormitory door stayed closed, and the room too quiet. Never before had she imagined she would miss Catra's incessant snoring. Then again, she never thought she'd have reason to.

By the time training began the next day, Adora's squadron was starting to whisper. Catra's bed was still empty that morning, as was her seat at Adora's side during breakfast. Adora's brooding only added to the mystery, but no one was brave enough to ask her what had happened.

The first session of the day was general fitness, beginning with 20 laps around the track. To the befuddlement of their commander, Adora threw herself down and sat out the entire thing. Sparring practice came next. The schedule called for melee-style combat, but Adora refused to participate in that too. Instead, she tossed her training staff onto the ground and waited to be defeated.

"C'mon, Adora," Lonnie moaned after besting both Rogelio and Kyle. She hesitated, still in battle stance, but uncertain of how to proceed. "I'm not going to hit you if you're not even gonna try to defend yourself."

Adora folded her arms. "In that case we're going to be here all day, because I'm not fighting."

Lonnie held out a little while longer. Then, with a disgruntled sigh, she reached out her staff and poked Adora's sensor-padding. An angry red X emblazoned across Adora's chest, ending the fight.

"Adora!" Shadow Weaver's voice boomed across the arena. "Come here at once."

With her head held high, Adora did as she was told. She had never defied orders outright like this before, and an icy fear solidified in the pit of her stomach. But, she reminded herself, it was probably nothing compared to what Catra was feeling, if she was even still alive. So Adora strode across the arena floor and took her place in front of Shadow Weaver. She stared her down with a defiant glare.

"What do you think you're doing?" Shadow Weaver hissed, keeping her voice low so the other cadets wouldn't overhear.

"You know exactly what I'm doing," Adora shot back. "Until you bring Catra back safely, I'm done playing your games."

It was times like this that Adora wished she could see beyond Shadow Weaver's mask. The only sign that her spiteful rebellion bothered the sorceress was the agitated whipping of her hair and the dangerous narrowing of her blank eyes.

"Very well," Shadow Weaver's reply was tight and clipped. Her hand shot from behind her back and took Adora by the shoulder, the sharp tips of her fingers burrowing in so tightly that Adora had to bite back the urge to gasp in pain. "Have it your way."

She steered Adora away from the others and into the heart of the building. Adora knew where she was taking her at once, and she drew herself up taller just to prove she wasn't afraid. Neither of them spoke, and when they reached the doorway to the Black Garnet chamber, Shadow Weaver stood aside and motioned for Adora to enter first. Adora recognized the gesture for what it was — Shadow Weaver wanted her to know that she was complicit in whatever was about to happen; that whatever was waiting on the other side of the door, Adora chose to accept it without a fight.

Inside, the chamber was just as gloomy as she remembered. This time, however, there was more to it than the hulking Black Garnet and the eerie basin Shadow Weaver used for casting her spells. Red electricity sparked threateningly in the corner, and when Adora squinted to examine it more closely, she gasped.

There, pinned in the violent arc of magic, was Catra. She was slumped down on bloody knees, her arms extended and held magically in place. Her clothes were torn and her eyes were dark and heavy with fatigue — Adora had never seen her in such bad shape before. Her first desire was to turn on Shadow Weaver and make her suffer for what she had done, but Catra needed her first.

"Catra, I'm here!" she cried, lurching out of Shadow Weaver's grip. "I'm going to get you out of here."

With what looked like great effort, Catra lifted her head. Her eyes widened in surprise and glistened with faint hope. Her voice cracked. "Adora?"

"Not so fast," Shadow Weaver said. With a wave of her hand, Adora froze mid-stride. "You don't really think I brought you here for a happy reunion, do you?"

Adora couldn't have responded if she wanted to. Her body was cast back, but before she could fall, a metal slab rose from the shadows to catch her. Thick restraints magically slithered across her wrists and ankles, thighs and shoulders. Only then did Shadow Weaver release her hold over her.

"Adora!" Catra choked. With renewed vigor she strained against the magic that imprisoned her, earning fresh waves of painful shocks.

"Stop! You'll hurt yourself!" Adora called to her, trying to sound calmer than she felt. "It's going to be okay, Catra. Everything's going to be fine."

"Oh, yes." Shadow Weaver drifted into the space between them, looking pleased with herself. "By the time I'm finished with you, everything will be perfect. I should have done this a long time ago."

The metal slab repositioned itself, lifting Adora so she was upright and face-to-face with Shadow Weaver. With careful, deliberate movements, Shadow Weaver raised her hands to either side of Adora's head. "If you insist on choosing Catra"—she spat her name like it was poison on her tongue— "over your duties to the Horde—over your allegiance to _me_ —then perhaps it's time to remove that variable from the equation."

Adora struggled against her binds and growled, "I already told you — if you do anything to her, I'm done. I'll never obey you again."

"You will if you don't remember what you were rebelling for in the first place."

This time, Adora's breath caught in her throat. She glanced from Shadow Weaver to Catra, who looked just as confused and wary as she felt.

"What are you talking about?" Adora asked.

Shadow Weaver pressed her palms—cold and throbbing with dark magic—to the sides of Adora's face. "I'm talking about wiping your mind, Adora. I'm going to erase every memory you've ever made with that wretched creature. When this over, you won't even notice she's gone."

Her magic cut into Adora's mind like a blade. It stabbed into her thoughts and sawed through her memories. It was a pain unlike anything Adora had ever known, but still she fought. She had to be strong. For Catra, she would be brave.

From the corner, Catra howled with dismay. Adora was screaming and thrashing, a cold sweat beading across her forehead as she resisted Shadow Weaver's magic. It tore into Catra knowing there was nothing she could do — that she had done this to her best friend.

Suddenly, the magic between Shadow Weaver's palms recoiled and sent her staggering back with a grunt. She clutched her chest and swallowed one deep breath after another.

"Adora, can you hear me?" Catra shouted, still straining to free herself. "Please, say something!"

Shadow Weaver righted herself, glaring darkly at her hands.

"Of course... How shortsighted of me," she murmured to herself. A moment of tense silence passed, then another. Shadow Weaver tipped her head thoughtfully as she gazed into the crimson of the Black Garnet. Her eyes flashed. "Ah, yes. That would be a suitable alternative."

She turned slowly in place and looked down at where Catra knelt, holding her breath. She caught Catra's chin between her fingers and forced her head back.

"Look at me," she demanded. "I want to see that you understand what I'm about to tell you."

Grudgingly, Catra tore her eyes from Adora, who lay prone and unresponsive on the slab. Shadow Weaver leaned in until she was uncomfortably close.

"Congratulations, Catra. It looks as though I'll be letting you live after all."

This wasn't at all what Catra had been expecting. She sputtered, her mind racing to figure out what the catch could be. "Why?"

Shadow Weaver gripped her tighter, unnecessarily rough as always. "It seems you are too deeply engrained in Adora's memories for me to extract." She took no pains to hide the disgust in her voice. "Wiping all trace of you would do too much damage."

She released Catra with a shove and glided back to Adora. Catra bit her lip until she tasted blood. This all should have been good news, but Catra wasn't stupid — she knew Shadow Weaver wasn't going to let them off that easily.

"So, what then?" she snarled. "How are you going to force Adora to be your obedient little pet if you can't get rid of me?"

Shadow Weaver looked back over her shoulder and, though Catra couldn't see it, she knew she was smiling underneath that mask.

"You're right — I can't get rid of you," Shadow Weaver said, laying her hands on Adora once more. "But I can rid her of the way she feels about you. Given the circumstances, I think that would work just as well, don't you?"


	7. But it's just a super//cut of us

When it came to Adora, Catra remembered everything.

She remembered that first day in the Fright Zone, crying on the top bunk. She remember a little blonde ponytail and huge blue eyes. She remembered Adora's soft hands holding hers. Adora was the first person in the Horde to show Catra kindness — the first person she hadn't been scared to death of. Their bond was special, and it had been instant.

Catra remembered every joke and game, every prank played and story whispered while the other cadets slept. She remembered the petty squabbles and the way Adora's determination always managed to light a competitive fire at her core.

But that hadn't been the only fire between them, and remembering that heat hurt Catra the most.

It hurt to remember those lingering glances and the thrill of standing a little bit closer than necessary. Like a masochist, Catra would replay the first kiss she and Adora shared that night on the roof again and again. If she closed her eyes, she could almost recapture the sensation of Adora's lips on hers. Her smell, her touch, the breathless sounds she made when they were alone together. But the pain of remembering was better than feeling nothing at all.

Catra took every memory they shared and turned them into a supercut in her mind.

Because when it came to loving Adora, Catra remembered everything.

And Adora didn't.

What Catra wished she could forget was Adora waking up in the Black Garnet chamber. She watched her sit up on that horrible metal slab and rub her temple with a groan.

"Where am I?" Adora asked, blinking in the dim light.

"Adora!" Catra gasped with relief. Free of Shadow Weaver's bonds, she lurched forward and reached for her. But Shadow Weaver waved her back with a cutting swing of her arm.

"How are you feeling, Adora?" Shadow Weaver cooed with a tenderness so false it almost made Catra hiss.

Gingerly, Adora swung her feet over the edge of the slab and gave her head a shake. "Fine, I guess." Her eyes flicked to Catra and widened at the disheveled state of her. "Catra, what happened to you?"

Shadow Weaver answered for her. "A little friendly competition during training got a touch out of hand." She coiled a hand around the back of Catra's neck and gave her a threatening squeeze. "Isn't that right, Catra?"

Swallowing hard, Catra gave a tense nod.

"Geeze, Catra," Adora laughed then winced, clutching the side of her head. She took a tentative and uneasy step forward. "I thought we agreed to stop aiming for each others' head?"

Catra searched Adora's face for a sign, any small signal that she was just playing along. There was no way Adora could have forgotten the way they felt about each other — what they had was too important, too special. Shadow Weaver had to be lying.

But when their eyes met, Catra couldn't deny that something was different — something was missing in Adora's gaze. She looked at Catra with kindness and warmth, the same as she always had. But gone was the light—that spark of magic—and its absence made Catra's stomach turn.

Again, Shadow Weaver tightened her grip and Catra resisted the urge to gasp.

"Yeah, sorry about that." The words tumbled out of her mouth as she forced it into a smile that hurt as much as anything else. She'd spent her entire life learning how to hide her broken heart behind a smile, but turning that mask on Adora felt like a betrayal.

"Run along now, Adora," Shadow Weaver said in her smooth, dulcet voice. "Meal time should be starting shortly."

"Right." Adora turned to leave. "You coming, Catra?"

"She'll be right behind you," Shadow Weaver answered, her fingertips digging deeper into the muscles of Catra's neck.

For a heartbeat, Adora hesitated. Catra's mind called out for her to stay, to not leave her alone in this horrible place. But then Adora smiled and gave a little wave.

"I'll save you a seat in mess hall!"

Neither Catra nor Shadow Weaver spoke until the doors to the Black Garnet slid closed. Before Catra could even take a breath, she felt the hot sparks of Shadow Weaver's dark magic seizing her painfully in place. Shadow Weaver slid back and used magic to turn Catra to face her. Even behind that stupid mask, Catra knew she was smiling.

"You will not breathe a word of this to anyone — _especially_ not to Adora," Shadow Weaver snarled. "You are officially out of chances. If you ruin this for her I will not hesitate to dispose of you myself. Do I make myself clear?"

A single disloyal tear traced its way down Catra's cheek. Her shame burned as she answered in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.

"Yes, Shadow Weaver."

Satisfied, Shadow Weaver clucked softly and reached out a hand. Catra's instinct was to pull away, but the fiery magic that held her in place wouldn't allow it. Her heart leapt with a torturous mix of fear and exhilaration as Shadow Weaver's magic fell away at the same moment her palm came to rest on Catra's cheek. With a tenderness Catra had only ever seen Shadow Weaver bestow on Adora, the sorceress wiped away the stray tear.

"Oh, Catra," Shadow Weaver whispered. When she pulled her hand away, Catra felt an alarming urge to reach for her—to make her stay a little longer—and her treasonous heart ached all over again.

But Catra stood still, barely breathing as Shadow Weaver breezed past her.

"No need to pout," Shadow Weaver mocked, pausing at the door as it slid open. "After all, who knows — without Adora as a distraction, you might actually amount to something one day too."

*

Catra spent the rest of the evening in wait.

Waiting for a sign. Waiting for Adora to pull her aside and whisper that everything was okay.

When curfew came, Catra watched Adora climb into bed with a yawn. When her tired blue eyes flicked up to hers, Catra felt a surge of hope.

But it faded just as quickly as it came.

"G'night, Catra," Adora said with a sleepy little smile.

Catra wasn't even sure if she said anything back. She barely remembered crawling into her own bunk, alone. For hours she tossed and turned, listening to the soft sounds of breathing that filled the dormitory and shivering against the empty space beside her. Had this room always been so cold, or was that just what the world felt like without Adora in it?

When she couldn't stand it any longer, Catra dropped back down to the floor. She hovered at Adora's bedside and watched her sleep. It struck her how quickly everything had changed — how the last time she was in this room, she wouldn't have thought twice about slipping under the covers and curling up to the warmth of Adora's side. Every part of her ached to know she wouldn't be allowed to feel that safe again, at least not until she and Adora were running the show. Maybe then she could help Adora remember what it was like to love her. Maybe then they could be together again.

Adora shifted and Catra froze as her eyes fluttered open.

"Catra?" Adora whispered, her voice thick with sleep. "What are you doing? Did you have a nightmare again?"

Forcing yet another smile for Adora's benefit, Catra sighed. "You have no idea."

"All right then," Adora mumbled. Beneath her blanket, she tucked her knees up high, making room at the foot of her bed. Catra remembered the gesture well — a relic from a time before all the kissing and sex and love. A gesture from when they were best friends and nothing more.

And that's when she knew.

Shadow Weaver had won.

*

You can't survive in the Horde if you can't figure out how to adapt, so that's what Catra did.

She settled for sleeping at the foot of Adora's bed the way she did when they were kids. She stopped reaching for Adora's hand, and she developed a habit of blowing off any perceived act of affection by reminding Adora that, no matter what she'd done, it hadn't been because she liked her.

Catra had to learn to be okay with having Adora this way. After a while, the hurt ebbed until it was nothing more than a persistent dull ache that she learned to live with too. But that was okay — she could make herself be satisfied. After all, living with the pain of losing Adora's love was better than losing Adora altogether.

And then came the sword.

That stupid sword in those damn woods. How many times had Catra gone back in her mind and rewritten that day? If she could do it again, she would have just been happy for Adora and her dumb promotion. She would have seen it as a necessary step in their grand plan to rule Etheria instead of yet another reminder of her own failings. Then Adora wouldn't have tried to cheer her up by borrowing that skiff.

Then she never would have found the sword.

And she would have stayed.

But that's not what happened, and no amount of wishful thinking could change that.

The day Adora left the Horde and joined the Rebellion, the delicate tethers that held Catra steady snapped, and she was unmoored. Adora may as well have taken the sword and plunged it straight through Catra's heart. Though she knew it wasn't fair—after all, Adora didn't remember all the things they shared before the love between them became one-sided—Catra couldn't fight her bitterness. _She_ had been the one who wanted to leave, while Adora insisted they stay. It was Adora who had it all: Shadow Weaver's attention, the affection of their squad mates, and a future full of promise and power.

So, how could it have been so easy to walk away from it all?

How could it have been so easy for Adora to walk away from _her_?

In the days and weeks turned to months and then years, Catra chose to focus on what she could only see as Adora's betrayal. She let anger taint the love she once clung to, and bitterness cast shadows along the edges of her memories. Why had she spent all those years suffering, if not for Adora? Why had she settled for second place if she was just going to be left behind?

Why did Adora make that promise, only to break it in the end?

Catra let spite and misery propel her upward and beyond what anyone could have imagined she was capable of. She let herself grow cold and distant, shrinking away from affection in the rare cases it was offered. She dedicated her every waking moment to seizing what Adora had so easily taken for granted.

In the yawning void Adora left behind, Catra was determine to step forward and show her exactly what she'd abandoned. She would take the crown of all that shining glory and wear it better than Adora ever could.

And, for a while, she did.

But it didn't change a thing. It didn't make things better.

And now?

Now she was tired of being angry. She was tired of being strong.

Double Trouble had been right: none of this was what she wanted, not really.

Which is how she came to find herself behind a pile of rubble on a galactic dictator's ship. It was why she'd followed Glimmer, Queen Sparkles of Brightmoon, in the first place. And it was why, for the first time in ages, she was letting that supercut of memories play.

No, being the best wasn't the answer. Showing-up Adora—making her pay for breaking her heart twice over and leaving her to drown in mess of everything they had been—had never been what Catra wanted. Or, at the very least, none of that had been what she needed.

And now?

Now, as she listened to Horde Prime preach his sermon of peace and order to a terrified Glimmer, Catra was finally starting to see that Adora leaving had never really been about her.

Now, she had a choice to make:

She could stay mad and let Horde Prime take it all away once and for all.

Or, she could be brave.

Maybe it was too late now to take it all back. Maybe she was past the point of redemption.

 _But maybe none of that matters anymore_ , Catra thought as she climbed to her feet, wincing against her fractured ribs.

Standing in the throne room of his glittering ship, Horde Prime was speaking.

"I cannot let word spread of my brother's botched conquest," he said, his voice smooth and eerily calm for someone on the verge of demolishing an entire world. "For order to thrive, this whole mess must be wiped away."

Peering out from behind the rubble, Catra watched Prime lift his taloned hand. He reached out and placed it on Glimmer's cheek, who stood frozen in terror before him.

"Beginning with you," Horde Prime said cooly.

Catra took a breath, and put her memories away. She had made her choice.

With her head held high, Catra stepped into the open.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

It was time to be brave.

— THE END, FOR NOW —

_AN: I realize this ending might feel a bit abrupt, but this fic was never meant to be more than a reflection of what might have been. I really like writing fics that fit in-universe, and with the finale coming up, I don't want to step on what might happen next. But who knows! Maybe the finale will give me something new to work with. Thanks for reading — I hope you liked it!_


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